Broken
by MidnightRain101
Summary: I was broken, and so was he. He became a murderer, and so did I. Everything was lost, and we had to fix it...even if we died trying. OneShot.


I stared at him for the longest of time. He sat at the end of his bed, not looking at me. Everything he just said; everything he had recently done…why?

I swallowed to relieve the dryness of my throat, and licked at my lips. I sat uncomfortably in the chair in the corner. Finally, he spoke up.

"I didn't mean to," he said in almost a whisper. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes. For the first time in along time, I was at loss of words. Nothing came out of my mouth, other than my disappointed sighs.

"I wish I could…go back and not have done dat." I shook my head and held up my hand to silence him.

"You've made too many mistakes," I said. "And I can no longer help you with them." Spot stared at me wide-eyed; his eyes were disbelieving.

"What?" he managed to choke out.

"I said…I can no longer help you." I then stood from the chair and walked towards the door.

"Alex, wait!" Spot called after me. I swiftly walked down the steps of the newsboy-lodging house. "Alexandria!" I turned around and looked up at Spot.

"I can't," I said. "Not ever again." Spot shook his head.

"But-"

"Deal with it!" I then walked towards the door and opened it, staring out into the pouring rain. I walked out of the lodging house and leaned against the door, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

It wasn't easy to tell your best friend that you couldn't help them. Ever since I came to Brooklyn Spot came to me with every single problem he got himself into. But this, this was too much.

The great Brooklyn king went too far. Hurting someone is one thing, but killing someone is another. Sure, the Bronx leader was being a pest, and should've kept his nose out of Brooklyn's business, but Spot didn't need to go so low as to kill the poor boy.

I walked slowly in the rain down the empty, lonely streets. The clouds from above mourned on me, causing me to shiver. Just some things can't be fixed when they were already broken. And I was broken.

I was a mess of confusion, and my mind and heart were telling me to do two different things. Following my mind would be the smart thing to do, but following my heart would be the best thing to do. For smarter or for better? It was a question I could not answer.

I stopped in front of a small apartment building, and began my long climb up the increasingly growing fights of stairs. Every time my foot hit the next step, I wanted to turn back and help him; but then again it was too hard.

I had finally made it to my apartment room – my parent's apartment room – and pushed the key into the keyhole, twisting it slowly. I pushed the door open and entered the apartment, making sure to stay quiet as to not wake everyone up.

"Alex?" came a raspy voice. "Alex…is that you?" I closed my eyes briefly and put on a fake smile.

"Yes, mother," I said. "It's me." My mother turned on the oil lamp and stared up at me with tired eyes on the couch. Ever since we found out that she had cancer, everything went downhill. Father didn't want mother in the same bed as him, so now she slept out here on the couch. I had offered her my bed, but she refused, wanting the best for her oldest child.

"Where have you been?" my mother asked, giving me a weak smile. I bit my lip, reminding myself not to pity her, and replied,

"I was talking with Spot."

"How is he doing? Is he getting enough to eat?" she asked. It was like her to care for Spot, since most of my family had a liking for him.

"Yes, mother, he is eating plenty." _And not to mention he's a murderer, _I thought to myself.

"That's good," she said. "Is he making enough?"

"Yes," I said, blinking away tears. A groan came from my father's bedroom and he walked out into the hallway.

"Where were you?" he asked in a deep and drunken voice.

"I was taking care of business," I told him, remembering the fact that my father couldn't stand Spot because I was, as he would say, so fond of him.

"What business?" he asked, not caring that his voice was rising increasingly.

"Tanner is trying to sleep, father. Could you please have respect for the six year old?" I asked. My father gave me a disgusted look as he limped towards me.

"I'll raise my voice if I want to raise my voice!" he boomed. I took in a deep breath of bravery, and willed myself to shut up!

"I'm going to sleep now," I said, looking down at the floor. I attempted to walk by my father's big form, but he gripped my arm tightly.

"You were out with that boy again weren't you?" he asked dangerously.

"Father, Spot is just a friend, and no, I wasn't out with him," I said truthfully.

"I thought I told you to quit seeing him!"

"You did," I said. "But it's hard not to see him when he's everywhere in Brooklyn," I joked. And just like that, the side of my lip was busted open, and little droplets of blood ran down the side of my chin.

"Don't smart mouth me girl," father said. "Where were you?"

I wiped the blood away from my mouth, trying to control my temper.

"I told you," I said. "I was taking care of business." My father rose his hand and struck me again. The taste of blood never failed to disgust me.

"Stop it!" mother cried. "Stop hurting her!"

"You stay out of this, Marianne!" father yelled. I tried prying my arm away from father's death grip as he led me to my bedroom. Here it comes, another beating. He must've lost the poker game.

Over and over again pain struck through my body, but I was pro at blocking it out. I was broken. The belt my father had left marks on my body that would've stung if I took the time to feel it.

"I told you," he said, hitting me with the belt, "to never ever talk to that boy again."

"Daddy," came a small voice from the doorway. Father stopped hitting me and turned around, staring at my six-year-old brother.

"Go back to sleep, Tanner," my father said.

"What's wrong with Alex?" Tanner asked, looking over at me, his little stuffed bear clutched tightly in his arms.

"She doesn't have a brain," father said. "That's what's wrong!" Tanner rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared at me for a minute.

"I can't sleep," he said.

"Just try!" my father yelled. Tanner hugged his bear and wiped his eyes.

"Okay," he said. He turned around and walked out of the room.

"Wait!" my father called. Tanner stopped and turned around. "Come here." My little brother shuffled his feet and walked into the room, looking up questioningly at father. My father bent down to Tanner's level and gripped his little arms.

"I'm going to tell you a story," he said. "A story about a young foolish girl, and a homeless boy who was worthless to this world." Tanner blinked a few times.

"But I want to go to sleep," he said.

"Not now!" my father yelled, causing Tanner to jump slightly. I scrambled to my feet as I watched father wrap his fingers around Tanner's neck and picked him up. Tanner kicked his feet, crying uncontrollably.

I don't know what happened, but something in me struck a match, and madness took over. I took hold of the candlestick on the nightstand beside my bed and began to beat my father with it over and over in the head.

He dropped Tanner to the floor and turned to me, a low growl escaping his throat. I dropped the candlestick and began to back away, but he soon dropped dead.

I sighed in relief and looked at Tanner, and scooped him up in my arms, trying to calm him down.

I then realized what I had done, and suddenly felt horrified. We were broken, Spot and I, and we were murderers.

I could feel tears coursing down my cheeks as I quickly ushered Tanner out of the room. I closed my door, leaving the body alone, and quickly looked around.

It was self-defense, right? Right; so that meant I wouldn't get in trouble right? Right?

I quickly hurried over to my mother's side, and stared down at her.

"He's gone," I whispered to her. She didn't respond. I wiped my eyes and sat down on my knees. "He's never coming back," I told her. Still, there was no respond.

I lowered my head and gripped her hand.

"He won't hurt us!" I yelled. Still, she was silent. "You don't have to worry anymore!"

I released her cold hands and kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry I was too late," I whispered in her ear.

I lost both of my parents that night, and I even lost my little brother. I couldn't be trusted to take care of him since I was a murderer.

I stood over my mother's grave and closed my eyes.

"You didn't mean to," Spot told me.

"Yes I did," I said.

"You didn't deserve it."

"Yes I did."

"Your bruised," Spot said.

"And broken…"

I turned to Spot.

"We're both broken." Spot nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry," he told me. "It's my fault. I'm just some boy yer always with."

"You're one boy who changed everything," I whispered. I took Spot's hand and led him out of the cemetery and down the streets, tending to our lives…

Our broken lives.


End file.
